Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the day-time, and falling into at night.

And people standing in their shade / Out of a shower, undoubtedly / Would hear such music as is made / Upon a country tree.

The trees along this city street, / Save for the traffic and the trains, / Would make a sound as thin and sweet / As trees in country lanes.

Little skinny shoulder-blades sticking through your clothes! And where you'll get a jacket from God above knows.

And if I loved you Wednesday, / Well, what is that to you? / I do not love you Thursday— / So much is true.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night, I miss you like hell.

I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year...

April comes like an idiot, babbling and stewing flowers.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, / I have forgotten, and what arms have lain / Under my head till morning.